


Good Beginning

by Silverskin



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Play, Masturbation, Muscle Growth, Other, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, Urethral Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-05 01:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverskin/pseuds/Silverskin
Summary: All seems lost for Chris, but is it?





	Good Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel I wrote in 2012 to RON9's doujinshi 'Bad Ending'. A few minor tweaks and corrections made.

Chris was in the middle of his own personal nightmare. He lay helpless on the hot tarmac, an army of hands holding him down against the runway as tiny tentacles tugged at the corner of his mouth. Chris watched as Wesker’s stealth jet powered away from the madman’s mountain base, leaving him at the mercy of his infected workforce, all now hideously mutated by the virus and feeding some squirming laboratory creation into him.

‘... _all you have left is to abandon yourself to pleasure...”_

Albert’s words echoed in his head. The words whispered in his ear as together they had climaxed watching the world end.

He bit down hard against the calloused fingers holding his jaw open, but in did no good, and soon enough tendrils were coiling around his tongue. The foul blob hauled its pulsing mass between his teeth and onwards into his limbless torso. Burning red eyes watched with insane glee as his muscular torso spasmed, finally falling limp as the agent blacked-out .With the implantation complete, Chris was carried back deep down into the base to await whatever horrific transformation he was sure to undergo.

_Game over...it had to be._

By a lucky twist of fate, fortune had fallen in the unconscious agent’s favour. That creature the crazed men had scooped from a tank to torment him with was a Plagas parasite, but during Wesker’s global viral attack, like seemingly every other animal on earth, it had been infected with the Uroboros virus, and the accidental effect was soon to make itself plain.

An hour later, Chris woke to find himself on his back in the same lab, now dark. By the glow of bubbling glass vats, he turned to look at himself in the mirrored observation screen, and couldn’t help seeing the reflection of his arms and legs lying scattered on the floor. He despaired at the horrific turn events had taken. Having to watch as all of humanity had fallen to his nemesis, and now finding himself reduced to this pitiful state. But before had had time to despair any longer, a sensation snapped him out of his dark thoughts. A hot, tingling buzz began to grow beneath his bandages.

The parasite had busily spent the last sixty minutes integrating itself into his body, but not in the way expected. They usually took their hosts over. Turned them into savage beasts. But this one had been altered by the virus in a way that made it fuse with Chris’ organs and nervous system without turning him into a mindless freak. Better still, long before it had been forced down his throat, it had purged itself of the pathogen after stealing its genes. And now that its primitive mind had tapped into his brain, the mindless creature would respond instantly to Chris’ thoughts, driven by its instinct to survive. The slightest fear or yearning would provide enough of a cue for it to act as its new host required. His first desire upon waking had been to be whole again, and the hybrid organism had listened. Its regenerative abilities were already set in motion.

Bio-chemicals poured into the hero’s bloodstream. He began to feel a deep heat spreading through his blood. His bandages bulged, stretching and distorting until they eventually burst apart to reveal their contents. Chris’ stared wide-eyed as a tiny limb began sprouting from each of his stumps, and to his relief they were not the black, leathery appendages he (or Wesker) expected, but perfectly normal little arms and legs. They grew with frightening speed, sliding out along the table as they reached full size. His sense of touch returning, he could feel the cold steel of the gurney against his palms.

Dazed, Chris sat up and wiggled his brand new fingers in wonder and ripped what was left of the bandages off his biceps. There was nothing beneath them, not even a scar, and he was left only to brush the fragmented surgical stitches off his skin. Even the hairs on his forearms sprouted back as the Plagas completed its restoration in exact detail.

“Don’t look like tentacles to me”, Chris said joyfully, spreading his toes.

Stepping naked off the gurney, he looked around for some clothing, but found only his B.S.A.A shirt folded neatly on an instrument table nearby. Slinging in on, He noticed it sat much looser on his frame than before, and he was a lot lighter on his feet now. The parasite had harvested material from the rest of his body to restore him, and although he was still athletic, his muscle mass had decreased considerably. The parasite wanted to do fix that, but it required nutrients to do so. Fortunately, the symbiosis it had with its master’s mind meant that it could at least signal its needs subconsciously. A ravenous hunger rapidly overcame Chris, and after trying the controls of the sealed doors without success, switched on the lights to scan the lab for any kind of food. When his eyes fell upon the tall circular tanks glowing next to him, the label on their glass surface caught his attention.

 **BIO-FEED -500-LITRES** , read the bold red letters.

“This must be what he gave his mutants”, Chris figured, pressing his hand against the glass as he peered at the bubbling turquoise goo inside.

A transparent hose meandered from a valve in the base of the nearest tank to a kind of feeding nozzle standing upright on the floor. A fifteen inch long gleaming steel cylinder: four inches thick with a half-inch hole in the middle of its rounded tip. Two large hand-holds sat either side of its base, handy for forcing it down any unwilling experiment’s throat.

“I wonder if a human could eat this stuff.” Chris pondered, taking hold of the valve and opening it very slightly.

He watched the thick fluid journey slowly along the tube, entering the nozzle at the base. Seconds later it began seeping gently from the summit, coating the gleaming metal as it oozed down the sides. With is stomach growling, Chris dipped his finger into it, and after smelling it, brought the clear viscous substance to his lips. Warm and thick, it tasted like a mildly sugary vegetable smoothie, filled as it was with glucose and a whole cocktail of proteins and vitamins.

“Not all that bad”, Chris mused.

Since his face hadn’t swelled up and he hadn’t vomited violently, he concluded it was edible. He knelt down in front of the nozzle and lapped at it carefully with his tongue. It was like biological rocket fuel to the Plagas, which quickly burnt the substance up as soon as in hit Chris’ stomachs, channelling the nutrients were they were needed. But it wasn’t enough, it needed more.....faster. The parasite manipulated Chris’ pleasure centres and ramped up his hunger, making his desire to eat that much more intense.

He lapped at the nozzle with increasing urgency now, his tongue sliding all over its gleaming surface to catch every last drop.

‘ _God, its fucking great_ ’, he thought to himself, his thirst for the ooze made more fervent with every passing second.

It was too much. He had to have more.

He opened up the valve further, and the fluid began surging from the hole, rising up a few inches into the air before cascading down like a syrup fountain. Chris clamped his mouth over the end of the nozzle, gripping the hand-holds as he gulped down the warm thick fluid spurting into his throat. The Plagas used every drop, and soon enough Chris felt his shirt tightening as the torso beneath expanded, quickly approaching its previous size. His barrel chest, thick biceps, and rounded thighs were back, but the hybrid creature wasn’t finished yet.

Because its instincts were driven by Chris’ thoughts and desires on only the most basic, instinctive level, the Plagas wasn’t just restoring him to his past state, but creating the ideal that Chris had in his head of his own body. He was always striving to be stronger and more powerful. All the better to fight the good fight.

Now, his wish was the parasite’s command.

To do it though, the Plagas needed gallons more of the liquid food, and its host just couldn’t gulp it down fast enough. Fortunately, it had a simple solution to that problem: it would just persuade its master to ingest more directly. Chris felt his hunger subsiding and ceased deep-throating the nozzle, wiping his smeared lips on the back of his hand. A new thirst was rising in him now. The parasite was coaxing a sexual need in Chris, bio-chemically exciting his pleasure centres with ease. It worked on the ring of muscles lining his rear entrance, thickening and elasticating them while filling the whole area with new sensory nerves. Chris felt the tingling heat rising there. Still on his knees, he reached between his rounded glutes and touched the hot skin. Two of his digits slipped effortlessly into the strong, remade sphincter and he moaned as a firework display of sensations ran up his spine.

_Fuuuck, I need something in me._

With his inhibitions swiftly washed away, his attention focused back again on the feeding nozzle, warm fluid still running over its thick mirrored shaft. This time it would satisfy a very different hunger. Chris got to his feet and positioned himself over it, crouching down until the gushing tip made contact with him. He groaned as the slicked-up pillar pushed painlessly inside, his ring stretching to accommodate its girth with ease. His cock stiffened as he took the hard metal column all the way to the base first time. Rising and falling on its full length, the warm sensation from its excretion flowing into him only added to the pleasure. Burning for more, he turned the valve until it was fully open, and the bio-feed surged into his bowls.

“Ughhhh FuuuCK, that’s IIIT!!” Chris moaned, gripping his hard-on firmly in both hands.

With ooze its filling master’s belly, the Plagas went into overdrive. Muscle piled onto Chris’ frame as he rode the makeshift dildo with greater and greater speed, the corner of his mouth curling upwards into a dark, lust-filled smile. Precum flowed from his dick in great long streams. His tight green shirt strained as the bulk beneath grew in waves, the fabric practically screaming. His swelling pecs forced it to its very limit, pulling it tight against his skin. Even his square hands thickened as he pumped his dick between his interlocked fingers, thumbs rubbing the corona of his glans with every long stroke.

With Chris’ mind now focused on his buzzing groin, the Plagas was making sweeping upgrades there too. Chris felt his fingers starting to separate, and witnessed the incredible sight of his fully erect manhood thickening in his grasp.

“Uuuugh YEAHHH!” he groaned, as its girth and length increased to a point where it neared the feeding nozzle in scale.

The leaking tip glans broadened and enlarged, crowning the aching vein-covered monster perfectly. Within him, the Plagas rewrote the meaning of the word fertile. It turned his balls into massive sperm factories, their weight and diameter increasing filling his sack. All his internal glands, and the ducts connecting them, were enlarged, ready to deliver the killer orgasm Chris could feel building in him. Pumping his super-cock furiously, his heavy gonads drew up close to his shaft on their new thicker chords, and he descended hard onto the feeding nozzle, his hole swallowing it all up as he climaxed.

“FUUCK YEEEEEESSS!!!!". Cum arched high into the air from him, knocking out ceiling tiles and landing in great thick gobs on the glass tank.

The orgasm seemed to go on and on, ream after ream of milk-white seed with ten times the sperm count of a normal man jetting onto the walls, the floor, and the mirrored screen. He’d painted half the lab with it before his balls finally emptied.

Turning off the valve, Chris shakily lifted off the nozzle, grunting as it popped from his still-taught ring. He gathered his breath, looked into the one-way glass in the wall, and was staggered by the colossus he found staring back at him. His B.S.A.A shirt looked like it had shrunk in the wash, only able to cover half his stomach and stretched so tight that it hugged every line and curve of the chiselled slabs of beef stacked on his heaving torso. Still euphoric, he couldn’t help but strike a pose, the gun show splitting his sleeves where they met his enormous biceps. When he turned to get a side view of the two giant bull-buttocks jutting out from his pelvis, the motion made his now-softened, but still enormous phallus swing heavy and slow along with his newly-gargantuan balls.

“Jesus, this…this is unbelievable…H-how can I-.... hang on, one-way glass?”

Chris stared at the screen, realizing he might just have found an escape route. Unknown to him, one of Wesker’s burly, virus-infected security men stood wide-eyed in the sound-proof room behind. Motionless, he stared through the thick field of cum splatters smearing the mirror, dumbfounded by the spectacle he had just witnessed. His stunned state was quickly shattered though, when a gurney came crashing through the window, quickly followed by a super-sized B.S.A.A agent. A single heavy punch landed square in the middle of the mutant man’s face, knocking him clean across the room.

Laid out-cold on the floor, Chris stood over him.

“I’ll be having these, hope you don’t mind”, he declared, reaching down and unbelting the man’s trousers.

The guard was a big man, but it was still a major struggle pulling them up his own rounded legs, and even more of a challenge stuffing his large, flaccid member and grapefruit gonads into them. By some miracle he managed get it all in and close the zip, but the straining grey fabric was pulled so tight it exposed every contour and curve in his bulging groin, and looked likely to rupture if he moved his bulging legs too violently.  

Fastening the belt, Chris reached for the door handle, his hair grazing the top of the doorframe as his increased bulk stepped warily into the corridor. He treaded barefoot along the tiles, carefully avoiding shards of glass from shattered test tubes and flasks, the strip lights above flickering as the base’s electrical plant stuttered on the last of its fuel. A set of part-open, sturdy-looking steel doors at the far end of the hallway drew his attention. Something beyond them flashed like a lighthouse in time with the rises and falls in power output. Making a quick glance behind him first, Chris squeezed through the gap between the doors.

What he saw next stopped him dead.

Footage of his own face choking on a tentacle glared back at him, spread over the three central screens of a horseshoe of monitors encompassing a high-backed leather chair. Other ghastly scenes played out on the rest of them. A thick blunt tentacle ploughing into his rectum. His manhood, turgid against his will. A wide shot of his whole body being enveloped by the Uroboros. All of the stuttering images playing on a loop, sometimes randomly cutting to static as the computer tried to cope with the power drain.

“ _His_ office...that sick bastard.” Chris growled, knowing Wesker had watched that very first attack on him over and over like it was a home movie.

Disgusted, he lifted his closed fist, ready to smash the control panel. But before he could bring it down, a message appeared on a flickering blue screen in the top corner. Some of the text on it was garbled, but what he could read filled him with hope.

‘B.S.A.A COMPLEX 35-APLHA *&^~_%-LY INTACT, %£@ AGENTS ”)*&+% OF WHOM ARE NOWN --@%$ UNINFECTED.’

_Uninfected…_

It was dated today, and Chris recognised the base ID. It was the location of one of B.S.A.A Africa division’s complexes in the Congo. Wesker’s surveillance satellites had carried on with their tasks, automatically sending hourly updates to the abandoned office long after its owner had fled to some other hidden facility. The agent’s eyes filled with optimism at the thought of survivors, but before the news had a chance to sink in, another power failure struck, wiping the message from the monitor. It was much longer than the others, and for a few seconds the whole room was black as night before the struggling generator finally recovered. Back on came the lights, but this time it had been too much for the computer, whose flat screens showed only blackness...and something else. A form seemed to undulate on the screens.

It took a second for Chris to realize it wasn’t a picture, but a reflection.

He spun around to be met by a hellish sight. A horribly mutated man shoved the doors apart, sparks flying as they slammed into the wall cavities. He must have been one of Wesker’s technicians, as he was still wearing a long white lab coat, but bundles of thick black tentacles sprouted from where his arms and legs should have been. Crimson eyes burning with insanity bored into Chris’ own hazel irises. After a silent second just staring at each other, the monster lunged. The agent stumbled backwards, his huge body landing neatly in Albert's vacant chair. Mutant lower appendages flowed forward and anchored Chris’s legs in place, and others grabbed his over-muscled arms when he struck out defensively. The soldier was slammed hard into the back rest, his assailant’s face moving to within an inch of his square stubbled jaw. Slowly, the mutant’s lips parted, and a nest of dark glossy tendrils burst out excitedly from behind his teeth.

“HOLY SHI---MMPPPH!!, Chris cried as his mouth met with a satanic French kiss from his attacker, tendrils not only pouring onto his tongue, but some breaking off to slide up his nostrils.

With his face engulfed, Chris could only feel the other tentacles pushing under the beltline and up the legs of his already overcrowded trousers. With space at a premium under the tight grey cotton, they weaved and coiled around the prodigious contents of his upgraded groin. Some dived down under his perineum to plunder his anus: others spiralled vine-like around his flaccid mega-manhood. He grunted as without care they ploughed into his urethra hard, the bolts holding the chair to the floor groaning from his massive torso bucking so wildly. The assault being performed on his prostate from all angles had his eyes rolling back in their sockets, the alterations performed on those areas by the Plagas still rendering them hugely sensitive. His cock stirred, its swelling shaft forced to hug his rounded left thigh as pushed out under the snug fabric. Tendril after tendril forced its way into his throat, rectum and hard-on, and en masse started spurting tiny jets of liquid from their tips.

This was no orgasm from the mutated tech....but an attack.

Like all mutants and zombies, instinct drove him to assault every uninfected person he came upon, and he was now pumping virus-laced fluids into every orifice Chris had. There was one factor however that this mutated freak was not aware of. His victim having his own internal ally. Sensing the danger, the Plagas parasite had already adapted the walls of Chris’ passages, sealing his body like a castle against infection. It sensed that its master wanted these slithering invaders gone, and was more than happy to assist. A surge of adrenalin poured through Chris’ bloodstream, and he bit down angrily on the tendrils in his mouth, severing them all just as the Plagas added extra force to what was already a massive approaching orgasm. A high pressure wave of cum surged from his titan balls, blasting every slimy invader out of his abused tubes. Tentacles recoiled fast from the agent’s guts too, their shocked owner wailing in pain from the damaged tendrils flailing in his mouth. Chris spat out the black spaghetti, and without standing, grabbed the agonized mutant by the torso, put his feet to its belly, and flung it head-first over the chair into the bank of monitors behind. Chris jumped up, ready to continue the fight, but he needn’t have bothered. The ruined panels popped and crackled with sparks, the mutant buried skull-first within them. Its ghastly form shuddered and jerked for a few seconds, before finally slumping motionless.

Catching his breath and wiping stray tendrils from his chin, Chris looked down when he felt a warmth running over his bare foot and between his toes. A blush filled his cheeks at the growing puddle of semen, and the wet stain that darkened practically the whole of his trouser leg.

“Christ, I’m gonna need a long shower after this,” he chuckled, “Time to get the fuck out of here!”

Chris sprinted through the maze of bare concrete hallways and stairwells, and up into shafts of the abandoned mine above, throwing enemies aside with ease, until finally he made it into the open air. A second Umbrella stealth aircraft parked neatly on the taxiway would do just fine.

He’d done it again. Survived against impossible odds. He set the GPS for that base hidden deep in the African jungle, and as he lifted off, thought of Wesker and smiled. 

_He WILL be surprised._

Albert had no idea that he had not seen the last of Chris Redfield.

His fuck-toy…

...turned super-soldier.


End file.
